


"I don't make promises I can't keep."

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Episode: s09e08 Rock and a Hard Place, Episode: s09e19 Alex Annie Alexis Ann, F/M, Het, I lifted some dialogue towards the end, Inserted Scene, OK my not-infuriating headcanon thereof, Oral Sex, Table Sex, holster!kink, in which Dean cock-blocks from afar, stupid canon making things sad, unpopular ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, the not-dragon that's going after these vow-breaking virgins. I wonder what it counts as sex? Good old-fashioned missionary, I'm guessing." Jody's sitting back in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle, gazing at him with a thoughtful half-smile. "I'll bet if I, say, went down on you right now, you'd be fine."</p><p><i>"What?"</i> Sam looks down, realizes he's filling the search bar with gibberish. He takes his hands off the keyboard but can't figure out where to put them. His thighs seem like dangerous territory, suddenly. "Does that...is that the kind of thing you're likely to do?"</p><p><b>NOW</b> with bonus re-deflowering!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really meant to start working on the next installment in the bookstore 'verse (that's up next, I swear!), but instead I set sail on my lonesome Sam/Jody catamaran (get it, cause it's a small ship). Join me, perhaps?

Sam is searching various permutations of "virginity cults" (and encountering unhelpful porn) when Jody says, "I wonder what it counts as sex."

"What?" he asks. She's sitting back in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle, gazing at him with a thoughtful half-smile.

"The...whatever, the not-dragon that's going after these vow-breaking virgins. How far does one have to go before it's official? Gotta be good old-fashioned missionary, I'm guessing, backasswards as this thing seems to be. I'll bet if I, say, went down on you right now, you'd be fine."

 _"What?"_ Sam looks down, realizes he's filling the search bar with gibberish. He takes his hands off the keyboard but can't figure out where to put them. His thighs seem like dangerous territory, suddenly. "Does that...is that the kind of thing you're likely to do?"

Jody stands up, walks over to his side of the table and closes his laptop. "Honestly, Sam, I think you're far more likely to go down on me first. Gentleman that you are."

"Am I? Thank you? I'm—Jody, are you seducing me?"

"Oh, don't give me that Mrs. Robinson crap. I'm a few years older than you, sure, but we're both adults, I'm hardly taking advantage. Sam, I went on a date with _the King of Hell_...that's how long it's been, that's how rough it is out there. And you think because I'm over forty I'm not gonna notice you? Look at you, kid. Your hand’s the size of the whole damn keyboard. You think I don't think about those hands on me? I do." 

She runs a hand through his hair, pauses in the wave of it and tugs. "What do you say? Let's test the boundaries."

Sam's still slightly stunned as Jody moves her hand to his jaw, tips his mouth open with her thumb, and bends down to kiss him. Her mouth is soft but insistent, and of course he’s thought about it before—fighting alongside someone, adrenaline coursing through your veins, the buzz of that connection tips so easily into attraction—but he's caught off guard by the force of it, how much he wants her right now. He stands up, one hand gripping the back of her head hard; he's used to contorting his neck and shoulders to kiss women, but Jody's tall enough that it's comfortable, just a dip of his chin as he pushes his tongue past hers and deep into her mouth. 

She moans a little, and he steers them awkwardly towards the closest bed (it's Dean's, but karma's a bitch). Jody pulls away to laugh at his eagerness. "Whoa there, cowboy. Remember, this is important monster-related research, we need to be thorough." She slips two fingers between the buttons of his shirt and backs up a few steps, tugging him with her. "So it seems like first base is kosher with this thing. Wanna go for second?"

Without waiting for a verbal response, she shrugs off her overshirt, pulls her tee over her head. Her bra is white cotton, eminently sensible, and totally fucking hot. Sam's never used the word “cougar” (casual misogyny is more Dean's bailiwick), but there's no denying the charge he gets from their age difference, that it'd be no big deal with their genders reversed: they're transgressing more than some not-dragon's medieval notions of chastity. And he's really, really looking forward to more.

Sam reaches for her, sliding his thumbs just beneath the underwire to trace the curve of her breasts; she huffs out a quick breath and fumbles with the placket of his shirt, coaxing buttons from holes one by one. He moves in to kiss her again while he unhooks the bra, and she shrugs the straps off her shoulders without moving her mouth from his, her hands from the broad expanse of his exposed chest. He cups her breasts, spanning them easily, and she smirks. "Big hands," she murmurs, her own warm against his skin and headed downward.

“Big heart, right?” he responds as her fingers reach his waistband.

"Right," she says, palming his substantial erection, already straining beneath denim. "Looks like above the waist we're in the clear. Now take your pants off. And don't forget your socks."

Sam obeys, watches as Jody moves to lounge on the bed, tossing her bra aside and wiggling out of her own jeans. Her panties are everyday cotton as well—again, there's something thrilling to him in that, to be faced with a woman more interested in her own comfort than display. "I think I might have a practical-lingerie kink now," he says, crawling onto the mattress beside her.

"That could work to my advantage," she says. "I've got a special-occasion thong tucked away somewhere, but it’s a literal pain in the ass." She knocks his hip with hers, stretches out her legs so her toes brush his shins.

They go back to kissing, languidly, hands roaming exposed skin, and Sam doesn't realize he's holding back until Jody makes an irritated noise and nips at his lower lip. "You don't have to be gentle, you know," she says, digging her nails into his shoulder as punctuation. "I'm not made of glass, don't treat me like it."

Sam chokes back an honest-to-goodness growl and rolls on top of her, the mattress's cheap springs groaning beneath their combined weight. His hands stop roaming, start grabbing; he mouths at her breasts, yanks down the front of her panties and rubs her clit. She laughs—not mockery but affirmation—and winds a hand into his hair, yanking hard. "That's better, baby. That's good."

Moving down her body, Sam grazes teeth over the flesh of her belly (she hisses, pleased) while they work her panties off. He pushes her knees apart, sprawling between her legs, and looks up to meet her eyes. She's grinning at him, and he smiles back before flicking his tongue over her clit—just once, quickly, and then he turns to bite at her inner thighs. He teases her for a bit, kissing slowly up to the join between leg and body, tongue lush and lingering, then pulling back from her lifted hips, too far for contact, but not so far she can't feel his breath against her. Jody whimpers, pulls his hair harder, and at last he relents: closes his lips over her clit, licks at her folds, slips long fingers inside her.

"Oh God, yes," she moans, spreading her legs wider and grinding against his face. "Fuck yes, Sam, that's it, come on."

She comes several minutes later, heels digging into his shoulder blades as she arches her back and shouts his name. (No beast bent on vengeance bursts through the door, so apparently Sam’s re-hymenating remains in effect.)

"Thank you, that was just lovely," Jody says, breathless. "Gimme a minute and I can return the favor?"

Sam groans at the thought, grip tightening on her hip—and then a less welcome thought strikes him. "Shit," he mutters.

"What's up?" 

"This thing is taking people that break their vows, right?"

"Yeah."

"Dean and Suzy—been over an hour." He gets up, pulling on his discarded shirt.

"Oh, shit," she says, instantly cranky. "Nice job ruining the afterglow."

"I'm sorry, he's just—he's been weird lately? He's not acting like himself—no, actually he is, just himself from years and years ago. The one that's kind of a thoughtless slut."

Jody sighs as reaches for her clothes. "Well, looks like we get to save him from his own bad decisions, then. But Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"After we've ganked this critter, I call dibs on your official re-deflowering."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 9.19 interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I am not sorry about in this chapter:  
> 1\. Putting a holster on Jody even though she's not wearing one in this scene.  
> 2\. Using Latin terms for her lady business.

"Sam, hang on a minute?" Jody says, lingering outside the interrogation room. He nods as Dean scowls and stalks off. "Is he OK?" she asks sotto voce. Sam steps closer, to hear better, that's all.

"Not lately, no. He's shutting me out, not that that's new. But I think he wants it. Taking on the Mark of Cain, going out in a blaze of glory—he’s finally got an excuse to follow through on his fucking death wish. Again. And now he's convinced himself I don't give a shit. I don't even have the energy to worry anymore."

"Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry. Come here." She hugs him tight, pulling his whole body close, and he ducks his head down to press his face into her neck; she tenses at the brush of his mouth. "God, Sam, we've got bigger fish to fry. Can't start this now."

He pulls back, a challenge in his eyes, and nudges her back against the wall of the corridor. "Are you sure?" He starts to unbutton her uniform: one button, two, three. "I'm still a virgin, you know. Been saving myself for you."

"Damn those puppydog eyes," she growls, and grabs his lapels, pulling him in for a kiss. There's no gentleness necessary, Sam knows, so he doesn't tease, just drives his tongue into her mouth, and the clack of their teeth jolts through him.

"There's cots in the cells," Jody says, and bites down hard on his lip.

"No," he says, nails digging into her side. "Too far. Not when there's a table next door."

She laughs. "You want to have sex on a table. At my age—hell, at yours."

"Yes," says Sam, and licks her ear.

"On a table in an interrogation room, in the law enforcement office I run."

"Yes," he repeats, tugging her shirt from her waistband. "Please, Jody."

She shudders against him when his fingers reach bare skin. "Fine," she says. "But I'm on top."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Sam murmurs, and, with a glance over his shoulder, hustles her into the room and locks the door behind them.

He's on her again in a moment, pushing the shirt off her shoulders, sliding both hands beneath her tee to span her waist. She steps back and pulls it over her head, meeting his eyes with a smirk. "Practical lingerie again," she says, rolling her shoulders to better show off her sports bra. "Getting you hot?"

"On you, yeah," Sam says, smirking back. He boosts her up to sit on the edge of the table, and she wraps her legs around him while she fiddles with his tie. Taking off his blazer, he reaches into its inner pocket and tosses a condom next to her.

She raises an eyebrow. "Planned this all along, eh? You’re very sure of yourself."

"I planned to _ask,_ Jody. You did call dibs on my 'official re-deflowering,' if I recall."

"You recall correctly. I feel very honored to be your second first, Sam." Jody tosses his tie onto the floor and works on his shirt.

Sam cups the swell of her breasts through spandex, thumbs at her nipples. She sighs and tugs him closer, kissing the tattoo over his heart. "Let me take my gun off," she murmurs into his chest.

"Could you put it back on, though? Once the pants are gone?" Sam's toeing his shoes off, shucking out of his shirtsleeves.

"Ride you bare with my belt on? Hmmm, you have good ideas, Sam," says Jody, and hops off the table to disrobe from the waist down. Sam stops her when she's down to undies and sticks his hand between her thighs, stroking her wetter through the fabric, then drops to his knees to get his mouth on her sex.

Jody steps back to rest against the table's edge, holding on with both hands while Sam teases her through the panties, tongue slipping along the leg elastic to soothe the red lines it's left on her skin. Sam brings up a finger to rub the cotton along her cleft; she opens her legs further. "Stop fucking around, Sam, get to it," she says. 

Grinning to himself, Sam pulls the panties aside to lick her clit, once, and dip two fingers into the slick opening of her vagina. They glide up through the folds, press and circle; Jody gasps and arches her back, and her hips come off the table enough that he can get the panties down and off.

She leans back, spread out for him, but he shakes his head. "Put the gun back on," he says, and she re-buckles it with a shudder. The holster's stark against her pale thigh, and Sam grabs it, clawing at her other leg as he kisses her stomach, mouth hot on her flesh.

Suddenly she yanks him up by his hair and gives him a stern look. "I said get to it, kid. I like you rough, not demure, so get down there and lick me."

“Uh, was that your mom voice? Kinda hot, but also kinda—disturbing.”

“Let’s call it my sheriff voice, then,” she says, and he hoists her knee over his shoulder, buries his face between her legs, lapping at her vulva fast and hard. “Oh, God, yes,” she groans, dropping back on her elbows and grinding against him.

Sam thrusts two fingers inside her, pushing up into the pressure of his tongue, now swiping ruthlessly over her clit. He hums into her, the vibrations driving her towards climax, and doesn’t let up until she cries out, hips pumping helplessly, and then draws back from the stimulation with a whimper. “Holy shit,” she pants after a moment. “Can you do that again?”

He makes her come once more with tongue and fingers, before she pushes his head away. “I’m good, Sam, that’s enough. Let’s lose that pesky virginity of yours.”

Jody wriggles up onto the middle of the table and sits cross-legged ogling Sam while he takes off his pants. "Your shoulders are ridiculous, Sam. Do you chop down trees for fun?"

"Gravedigging. Hunter's workout," he says, shuffling out of the last of his clothes and joining her. "Is this table gonna hold us?"

She shifts from side to side—the legs squeak, but nothing tips. "I think we're OK. Come here," she says. 

He moves in, and she straddles him, stroking across his back and down his spine to squeeze his ass. Sam's cock is tucked up against her, sliding between her labia, and he groans into her mouth. "Thank you," he says. "I need this so much, you have no idea."

"Always happy to help out you boys, Sam, you know that."

"Would you--if Dean, uh, needed this kind of help?"

"Oh, Sam," she sighs, "I don't know, if he came on to me? Maybe. You've got good genes. It doesn't matter, sweetheart, lie down." She guides him onto his back and reaches for the condom. Soon, she's kneeling over him, sinking down with her hands braced on his biceps, and they hold their breath together until she's settled against him. 

Sam grabs her hip, the barrel of her gun where it rests on her leg. "Fuck, Jody, move," he says, lifting his pelvis fruitlessly.

"It's OK, Sam, I've got you," she says, rocking against him, "I've got you." 

Jody sets their rhythm, quick and sure, and Sam arches into her, shutting out the rest of the world. No Metatron, no Abbadon; no Dean to betray him, to slip further into the dark. Just Jody, her kindness—hell, he knows it's basically a pity fuck, that's fine with him.

She gasps, moves faster; Sam brings his hand between them to help her over the edge, and she comes again with a cry. He's almost there himself, and the table starts to creak as he redoubles his efforts, pulling Jody down to kiss her roughly and thrusting for all he's worth.

Chasing an acceptable oblivion.

They don’t linger afterwards—neither the time nor the place—just get dressed in companionable silence and embrace at the door. “Back to work,” she says, patting his ass.

He drops a kiss onto her forehead. “Dean’s gonna wonder where the hell I’ve been.”

“Doesn’t he always?” she says with a grin. Sam’s returning smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.


End file.
